Masks
by Skyfell
Summary: The making of Vermouth. Her re-birth. From someone with the name of Sharon Vineyard, whose life underwent an unexpected change at her encounter with an eccentric scientist/professor, and who lived a life just as varied as the masks she wears. ON HIATUS.
1. Angels

**A/N:** _**As previously said, this is my theory of Chris Vineyard's recruitment into the Organization. Let's assume she belongs to the generation of Atsushi Miyano, his wife Elena and Pisco; then, due to an operation gone ashtray, became included among the test subjects of the incomplete APTX 4869. And she also turned up as an exception, then living the double life of Sharon Vineyard and her "daughter" Chris.**_

_**I got this idea when thinking back to the previous Detective Conan episodes, and recalled Agent Jodie Starling revealing that Chris Vineyard and her "mother" Sharon is only one person. Hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing. Now, on with the story, shall we?**_

_**{By the way, the italicized lines mixed with others signify the characters' thoughts. The italicized paragraphs signify memories. The italicized single words signify emhasis in non-italicized paragraphs. The italicized and bolded lines signify quotations/emphasis/notes/titles}.**_

**Disclaimer:** _**Almost forgot to include but as you all know, I just own the plot. Detective Conan and any associated features belong to Gosho Aoyama. The lyrics used are from "When You're Gone" (Avril Lavigne) and "What If" (Kate Winslet), respectively. I neither own both the characters and the songs nor making profit out of them. Entertainment purposes only.**_

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

**MASKS**

_**[Angels]**_

_**It is easier to be wiser for others than for oneself** – François de la Rochefoucauld_

The first time they met, she stood out – unintentionally, he theorized – among an entire classroom of students in fancy clothes, with her simple creamy blouse and a pair of black pants. But there was an aura of elegance about her, he noticed, either from the delicate pair of black high-heels framing her feet or the way her eyes intently followed his every movements, taking notes in the old university way, with a stack of paper on her clipboard.

She came up to him after class to clarify some points that he had neglected to explain during his lecture; and a little chat turned out to be a long conversation of research interest, in which he was further impressed by her ability to reflect on contrast points of view while still remained neutral. Since it happened to be raining when they reached the parking lot outside the building, he offered to drive her home; but was taken aback when she politely refused. Her reaction was unexpected to him, for the willingness to continue their talk was rather evident from both parties.

He decided to place her on _the list_ without informing his sponsor. He had done enough to guarantee his status, and did not intend to risk it with a false alarm. _**When the time came to pick the apple**_, she would be acknowledged.

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

She lay sprawled on her bed, her gaze stuck to the ceiling blankly. It had been three weeks since _he_ last contacted her. Even though it was either a few chat lines, or a text message in his usual style, at 2 a.m. in the morning to see if she had time to listen to one funny story he just read, his antics had not stood a chance in "bothering" her, as he once jokingly inquired, like they had to so many others. Or like how others had annoyed her nearly to death with the very same actions.

_She knew it was hopeless. He was her very first love, and had unintentionally trampled over those oh-so-fragile feelings, merely out of ignorance so frequently seen in men his age. Yet when they had a chance to reconcile, she had to bite back her tears when she learnt, again, by his ever-trusting confidence in her, that he had had a sweetheart of his own, for more than one year before the meeting that day. She remembered having used up all her acting abilities to keep a not only straight, but positively sympathetic face – even now she still could not refer to her expressions that evening as "happy for her other half". She knew it was a mixture of jealousy and regret, for she could not bring herself to confess to him back when they were still classmates; then, she could not bring herself, again, to interrupt his lovingly description of the woman she never met. She knew that was selfishness, she recalled having read somewhere about wishing someone happiness even though its formation never included you yourself and perhaps never would; but she, as well, could never feel happy for him. Her kindness, which he admired and praised so frequently, chose sympathy as its limit._

_She did not forget her hopes rising when during one of the hours-long online conversations, she noticed him acting as if they were playing masquerade. Everything he said brought her a sense of overreaction. She knew. She could even confidently affirm that perhaps she knew him like the palms of her hands; and having acquired a sense of straightforwardness after their separation, she asked him directly, to explain it._

_And he broke. He admitted to her his problems with his current girlfriend, how the woman was so thirsty of affection, so afraid of loneliness, yet so innocent that it helped justify all of her demands of attention or voice of needs. He admitted his frustration, being a young successful businessman always on the move, with the love of his life, a sweet young lady who had never experienced separation from her loved ones less than the personal hours during which they had to tend to their own business. He admitted his impatience, having tried to appear by her side as much as his schedules permitted, thus ended up staying whole nights to complete work, with the woman he chose, who he insisted not being evil in whatever sense of the word, just less sympathetic than **her**; but then he still had no regret._

"_To put it frankly, dear friend, - he typed, while she held her breath – she was made and unintentionally enforced herself at the center of the world, as you unintentionally and so kindly put everyone else at the center of the universe"._

_Using all her might to pull deaf ears on the words, she began her usual "healing" process, pointing out to him that the woman certainly meant him no harm, that she was probably used to the almost instant attention of others even if she did so much as to shed a tear, that she was never away from home for long and if ever was, judging from her profession, might just have been a vacation surrounded by her loved ones. She assured him that he did not make a wrong choice at that – all the while brushing away a stray tear – then advised him to try surprise techniques, like sending his woman flowers, small gifts, calls at the most unexpected moments, etc. _

"_She was just insecure, - she smiled to the laptop, picturing him on the other side of the keyboard, on the other half of the hemisphere – So securing her is all you need"._

_He commented to her that she would be very successful in her career, for she had just detected and resolved his trouble without counselling him face-to-face._

_She just smiled back, replying that her area of study had never had anything to do with mind-reading._

She pulled back from her laptop, closed the Message Archive window, and spread her silver-blonde hair all over the pillow. Several times she had referred to herself as a _bitch_. She had, to be precise, taken advantage of his situations more than once, leaving a deeper and deeper impression on him while his heart was staggering; and the only thing that helped him patch things up with his sweetheart instead of tearing him away was only the strict code of honor that she always embraced. She knew she was walking a thin line, with one side entitled _the perfect soulmate but never lover_, and the other belonging to, blatantly, _the seductress_. She knew if she pushed, trespassing the invisible but never invincible wall, she would be his. Or he would fall under her sway. Either way, trespassers shall be punished.

She had long realized, that Angelica, his sweetheart, resembled someone she knew all too well. She had long noticed the description of the young lady conjured up images of something so familiar that was no longer awake.

… Her past.

_She was once Angelica, or to put it differently, the latter was **her** imperfect intial. Like **Ange**, she grew up in a middle-class family, a loving mom, a caring dad, a peaceful childhood with the worst memory being a mad dash to escape the neighbor's unleashed dog. At school, neither the nerd with exam top scores, nor the happy-go-lucky cheerleader, but she was loved in her friend circle, the ones that sometimes she intentionally got detentions with for them not to feel lonely, that always dragged her along whenever they left to the arcade. In her neighborhood, she was the lovely little girl that tried to steady an old woman and hit the ground herself in the process, that never skipped an opportunity to put the envelope of money her family gathered in the charity box with the most solemn expression she could handle, that spent a week indoor trying to arrange her parents a surprise anniversary party after work. _

_Until she realized she loved him, her world was still a pink bubble with her consent but without her knowledge._

Till the present she was well-aware it was not what they termed "puppy love". Something so childish could not have lasted so long, lingering even when they had not seen each other again, growing under her nurturance, in his absence, for three years straight.

"_Out of sight, out of mind", if the old saying ever qualified as a love advice, she would gladly be an exception to it. Distance and lost of contact only fertilized her feelings..._

"_**When you're gone the pieces of my heart are missing you**_

_**When you're gone the faces I came to know is missing too**_

_**When you're gone the words I needed to hear to get me through the day**_

… _**and make it okay...**_

_**I miss you...**_"

But the final line never came. From both sides. She had spent days imagining the reunion, with him admitting to sharing her feelings and their living happily ever after. But at the actual reunion, she got another, still unintentional, heartbreak.

She recalled having listened to again and again while pondering over the very same thing that made up a song's title...

"_**What if I have never let you go?**_

_**Would you be the man I used to know?**_

_**If I stayed... if you tried... if we could only turn back time**_**...**"

She had long known, the past would always be the past. That _what ifs_ would lead her nowhere, may be to her demise at most. That she had long dug her own grave in love, by switching to standby mode and accepting a shot of emotional immunity to herself, waiting in vain for the return of someone who had never been aware of her feelings in the first place. That she had been clinging to a wild fantasy, not a dream.

A dream held a chance, however tiny, in becoming reality. A fantasy would only follow into her dreams, at best.

Many of her friends, hearing this, would say she had been foolish beyond imagination. Of course, that was her darkest secret, one she did not think she would confide in anyone; surprisingly, not because she was afraid of being misunderstood. One could never understand oneself thoroughly, hence slips of the tongue or any other unprepared acts. Thus who were they, and who was she, likewise, to judge what was or was not misunderstood?

But her intention, in that regard, lay on an entirely unexpected side. She did not want to shatter her image, one she had long devoted to its construction and elaborate maintenance. In playing the bystander to affections, she had, initally unbeknownst to her, built a reputation of _the unattainable_.

And someone was probably right when concluding that a beauty, once acknowledged, would be cultivated. That a woman could be pretty if she wished to, and had the appropriate means, in her case, knowledge. As well as simplicity. Like, her slender figure would look best in office blouses, or her silver-blonde hair would stand out with black.

And the web of secrecy and detachment she weaved around herself only added to it.

"_**A secret makes a woman woman**_"

Her favorite quote. She rarely mentioned it to anyone, for it contained the type of confidence that not all possessed. She herself was not sure if she _did_ possess it, but she believed it anyway. Ironically, while her former fantasy would surely end in a blind alley, the more recent one polished even more her image.

Her thought drifted back to the laptop, subsequently _him_, thereby linking to his lover. Even when she had finally let go of her feelings, and lived on with her present, their relationship to her was still of great interest.

_For heaven's sake_, she thought to herself whenever she realized she was analyzing her own private life, _what a workaholic I've become_.

_Ange_... Somehow she could not refer to his girlfriend as her official name, Angelica, and resorted to a nickname that upon hearing a stranger would end up assuming they were very close to each other, one a soulmate and the other a serious love interest. But in fact the young lady did not even know her, or maybe barely as an old classmate of his with whom he still kept in touch. They both agreed not to let her know of the difference between a classmate and a soulmate, since both did not want him to be antagonized with a heap of suspicion of adultery, other than the original self-doubt.

She got off the bed following a phone call from her mom at the other end of the country to check up on her, then resumed her daily tasks. Tomorrow she got a class of _his_ again. The Japanese visiting professor, except for his awkwardly habitual addressing of students by their last names at first, brought up some very intriguing research interests. And their after-class talk turned out to be a pleasant experience, just as she had expected upon taking glimpses of his personality during the lecture. He was still young, perhaps a few years older than her, but very talented indeed.

She smiled, recalling a lightning of surprise crossing his face when she refused his offer of a lift. She did not want to reveal too much of herself to an almost total stranger. The conversation was very inviting a prospect, but a tiny secret would not hurt at all.

She slided open her window, and when glancing at the sky, notice a cloud in the shape of what, in her eyes, seemed like a pair of white wings.

_Angel's wings_...

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She always knew why she did not refer to his girlfriend with her given name. If all angels were similarly so naively unaware of the changing universe, they would all end up as fantasies _only_... no more, no less.

__The sky looked beautiful, don't you think sir?_

__Please, - the black-haired man turned to her after briefly stopping for a hurried glance – Miyano would be enough._

__Professor Miyano, you didn't notice, - she pointed out – I specifically recommended a second look._

__You mean the cloud almost afloat in the center? - he glanced up again._

__Yes._

__The tint of sunset was pretty, - he commented. If you want a better vantage point I suggest something other than staring through the glass ceiling._

_When they stepped outside she appeared worried._

__Something the trouble, Vineyard-san?_

__No, Professor, - she shook her head – but looks like it's going to..._

_A few seconds later the rain poured down with no mercy. At all._

__Too bad that cloud was overwhelmed, - she eyed the darkened sky inquiringly._

__Out of curiosity, what do you think of it?_

_She turned to him._

__ Cloud?_

__No need for sarcasm, Vineyard-san, - he smiled. Remember what I said about inspriration?_

__I'm no poet, Professor. Out of curiosity, - she turned the table on him – what's your opinion?_

__Well, I was expecting to relate to our previous discussion._

__Now that you mention it – she looked thoughtful. He noticed a strand of her silver-blonde hair usually framing her face when she was lost in thought, but dismissed the stray thought himself._

__It looked like the wings of an angel hidden in the sky watching over people, - she finally answered._

__An angel, you say? - It became his turn to be lost in thought. Perhaps... but you know, Vineyard-san, if all angels were to be in white, the suppossedly color of innocence, they would end up too bright that humans would drop dead just being seen through._

__Kind of like a converted Medusa, isn't it? - she calmly responded._

__Yes, - he nodded, his eyes deep – a Greek myth with reversed roles._

She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Seemingly, they – she herself and the Japanese professor both emerged from a background buried in different mysteries. And unmasking had never been of her interest.

The process itself might prove difficult. Masks were, in her opinion, like skin to humans. Vital, and transgressing borders. She had no interest in digging up buried stories.

But, who knows. One day they might cross path, long enough for her to end up unveiling the curtain. _Unconsciously_. Just as one day, if all angels turned white, humans might be able to look at them, enlightened without being blinded.

"_**But I guess... we'll never know..**__._"

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

**A/N: _I myself don't even know who is the man I wrote about that Chris Vineyard fell in love with, and I don't think that fits with Gosho Aoyama's idea either; but she has been a very intriguing character to me. I started thinking, what if she was only an ordinary lady like all others, with extraordinary skills that not every person had been able to sharpen? Thus, the story began._**

_**Looking forward to your review.**_

_**Chrys.**_

_**PS: Please don't associate my screen name with my interest in this character. Just a nickname, that's it.**_


	2. Borders

**A/N:** _**As previously said, this is my theory of Chris Vineyard's recruitment into the Organization. Let's assume she belongs to the generation of Atsushi Miyano, his wife Elena and Pisco; then, due to an operation gone ashtray, became included among the test subjects of the incomplete APTX 4869. And she also turned up as an exception, then living the double life of Sharon Vineyard and her "daughter" Chris.**_

_**I got this idea when thinking back to the previous Detective Conan episodes, and recalled Agent Jodie Starling revealing that Chris Vineyard and her "mother" Sharon is only one person. Hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing. Now, on with the story, shall we?**_

_**{By the way, the italicized lines mixed with others signify the characters' thoughts. The italicized paragraphs signify memories. The italicized single words signify emhasis in non-italicized paragraphs. The italicized and bolded lines signify quotations/emphasis/notes/titles}.**_

**Disclaimer:** _**Almost forgot to include but as you all know, I just own the plot. Detective Conan and any associated features belong to Gosho Aoyama. The manga materials used are from Gosho Aoyama's volume 41 of Detective Conan and remains his ownership, as always. I neither own both the characters and the details nor making profit out of them. Entertainment purposes only.**_

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

**MASKS**

_**[Borders]**_

_**Within the core of each of us is the child we once were. This child constitutes the foundation of what we have become, who we are, and what we will be – **__Neuroscientist Dr. R. Joseph__**.**_

She was always by herself.

Ever since she was a kid, there had not been one single day without a concerned parent dropping by her house after work hours to remind the family how their only child was always seen in the nearby park, unaccompanied by any adult and totally oblivious to her surroundings. Their favorite theory, as far as she could remember, had been along the line of some imagined shadow stalker who took advantage of her loneliness, caught her off-guard out of the blue, bound her with skillful fingers of a snake in action, and took off into the crowded streets bordering a working-class neighborhood.

__You would vanish without a trace._

_Her parents had never forgotten to shrug off all such ramblings, just as they had always aimed the last sentence at her specifically, after hearing her voiced declaration that she preferred to play alone. Time after time, it turned out that their continual warnings had been the only being to disappear: not even a pet was reported lost. The gossip-lovers had masked their predictable failure by dubbing her parents "the uncaring neglecters" and herself "the accustomed neglected". Countless coffee talks had merely been used up on baseless insistence; to a point that left her wonder whether there had actually existed such genuine concerns for a neighbor's daughter, or had they been genuine talkaholics that could turn even thin air into a serious topic?_

_Her parents silently agreed with the latter. Her father only smirked. Her mother eyed all attendants challengingly, daring them to execute their sudden wish for lifting her up by one ear, when her perfectly innocent voice expressed such thorny words. The neighbors – that was the last time they stopped by, as she recalled – ended up grudgingly admitting her above-age intelligence, and flew past the main door._

__How in this world – one whispered to another when they had all been out of earshot – could a five-year-old girl pronounce "talkaholic"?_

__Is that even in the dictionary?_

__She's a lovely child, - a neighboring psychologist having been forced to come along to add authority to the bunch noted – She made that one up because of us._

__What do you mean, "because of us"? - some parents stopped dead in their tracks; their humiliation still stung._

__Let's be frank here: how many of you come almost everyday with that stalker topic as a starting line? - the psychologist questioned, her eyes analytic – We women are workers, but women still, we need some gossips to spice up our routine lives so as not to get bored to death._

__And your point being? - a defensive midwife ventured._

__Truth be told, we have very little time to play with our own children, the Vineyards are the same; yet we've been invading their personal space._

_That shut them up._

_Being left behind in their suddenly increased walking pace, the psychologist smiled to herself at the memory: a girl in a blue Sunday dress trying to steady an old woman and hit the ground herself in the process._

__She may be a lovely little one, but definitely not the type of "screaming at the flying cockroaches in the hope they would not slam into her face"._

Personally, she had never placed herself somewhere in the same rank with ruthless teenage robbers and blood-thirsty youth gangs who fell back on the category of "unhappy childhood" whenever they were apprehended. Not all people with tough lives ended up behind bars. Their parents had not been given as a free choice, but their future had remained one until they themselves closed the door to it.

It had been puzzling to her neighbors, and some of her peers at the time, how she got along so well with others in their vicinity but was seen by herself most of the time, either at school, in the arcade or simply enjoying the peace in a park. None of them had been able to offer a sufficient explanation as for why a girl beloved in her own circle of friends would still be caught alone; even if it was several times revealed that she had simply been on her way to where she could enjoy some company. Unknowingly trapped within the borders of an obsolete pack mentality, they could not understand how to enjoy what most humans dreaded.

Loneliness.

Such a word, to her certainty and to others' doubt, never made it into her personal dictionary. Instead, she had been, indeed, appreciative of her solitude and suspected that the attitude would stay with her "until death do us part", to quote from some sappy romance novels she never spared more than a few seconds to finish browsing them through. Her own world had been one similar to Terabithia - a secluded kingdom, to which access would be was at will if it was found yours, but depended on personal permit from the queen should you be an outsider. It had been wide open for her parents, both when their eyes were not too exhausted to gape at its beauty, and accompanied with a specially prepared welcome ceremony if the former appeared unavoidable.

_But they had been honor guests. Schoolmates her age, until she entered high school and formed her own trusted circle of friends, either had had such a kingdom at their disposal and for some reason did not wish to issue invitations, or had been too caught up in personal ornamentation to notice the existence of such a route. Adults, especially those who could see the world from her eyes, had been either too nosy, or lousy, or busy to pay her a regular visit. Some had stumbled upon it, like **him** – did she mention she had never confessed to him throughout their childhood together until career split them up? - and like a tourist who could not comprehend the full extent of a heritage's elegance, unknowingly, but willingly left. _

She never declared herself a loner or practiced that lifestyle. She enjoyed others' company whenever she had the chance: in fact, she had never been absent from any gatherings whatsoever organized by her high-school friends – those she could relate to the most. But her preference for solitude had never faded, either. It was not isolation giving birth to loneliness, which again ended up in self-isolation. As far as she was aware, it was independence - the marker of being able to survive on your own but staying tuned to the larger concert.

And on a cloudy afternoon of a solitary walk in the park one-bus away from her university, that was how her silver-blonde hair ended up flowing with the wind on the same bench that already harbored a familiar black-haired head.

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

He was always by himself.

Ever since he was a kid, there had not been one single day without a concern face popping into his room at any hour to ask if he would enjoy the company of others, to which his response varied.

__Hello?_

__Yes? - he had always replied without turning his head, eyes stayed focused on the sketch at hand._

__Aren't you lonely?_

_He would slowly get up from his desk near the window, chin slightly lifted, eying the inquirer while approaching, projecting an intimidating posture – the basic survival skill every street child was well-aware of – and assess the situation._

_If that was a friendly warning for "you stuck-up brat think you're too great to associate with the likes of us?", someone – and he would make sure it would never be him, even against plural forms – had willingly, but unknowingly sealed their fate._

_He was raised a fierce fighter, but not an implulsive one: he always made sure he would never take the blame of escalating a conflict._

_If that was a caretaker worried for his well-being and ultimately her monthly salary, he would fake a sweet smile, weeping away some imaginary sweat, intentionally unsuccessfully reassuring her that he was just a bit tired, and hopefully some biscuits would be delivered to his room; eventually, his solitude would resume in peace. Meals had always been pathetic at the orphanage, even for someone with a weak heart certificate, strategically torn at places so that no one would suspect that to begin with it had never belonged to him. _

_If that was a scared little one looking for some company and perhaps protection, he would put his sketches to the highest shelf so the uncompleted projects would not suffer, drag out some self-invented toys and entertain the inquirer until bedtime or whenever a caretaker arrived to take care of the responsibility she absent-mindedly neglected. Miyano-oniisan had always been generous. _

Perhaps his popularity among the smaller kids, who usually could gain anything from the caretakers by whining nicely, had been the reason for the huge farewell party thrown on his last night there, as a couple would arrive the next morning to resume tasks left behind by her parents when they _dropped_ their car over a cliff one stormy night. _Lies_, he remembered thinking when officials told him of the _accident_ – as if a five-year-old had not matured enough to understand the word _suicide_. It had never come to them that he himself _might_ know of the initial plan: his parents had explained to him that was the only way to guarantee him their insurance, which opened a secure door to his future; and the last time he cried had been that very night, _before_ the news arrived, in his parents' arms before they departed.

_He had assumed his rivals re-thought of his situation when they too, showed up at his farewell party shamelessly. Perhaps they wanted his blessings, for not every orphan could end up in a rich home like he did. Perhaps they wanted to be taken notice of, as the young couple inherited one hell of a fortune and some higher-ups had been invited._

_His adopted parents encouraged him of this idea, until he found out another night that they had **paid** in fresh cash for those who once fighted him tooth and nail to show up – just another boost to their authority. Since this revelation, the only adults he looked up to had forever been limited to his blood parents, who gave up their lives to secure him a better future. _

_Frankly, he thought they were better off dead. If they had survived the incident, they would end up enraged to death upon seeing his relatives dividing money among themselves and sending him to an orphanage anyway._

After the adoption, no matter how he despised the couple, he indeed enjoyed all technological advances they had been keeping him up-to-date with. They had given up on questioning his solitude; especially after he told them face-to-face that he would never be a lovely child to cuddle with, and instead advised them to get some exotic pet as replacement.

They did.

__Dad, you can't intervene, I need to discipline this brat – on whose money does he think he lives to breathe such insults?_

__Honey, he's just a child! He said what he noticed!_

__Indeed – the pencil-moustached middle-aged man said in his deep voice – and to notice such things means he's a genius. Did you hear how correctly he pronounced the pet species, judging from how old he is at the moment?_

__Dad, no **soup** for him like..._

__You know I'm bad at cooking, - the man feigned innocence, but when the couple looked away he winked to Miyano who had not missed a word - Besides, who knows, he may be right: if you want a cuddly one, why adopted an above-age intelligent kid?_

_The man said all these words while glancing through the corner of his eye at Miyano, watching – or awaiting? - his reaction._

"_What fool in this world – he thought to himself – would be hurt by such words?"_

_But he suddenly kept his head low, shivered for effect, and took off at full speed to his room._

__Dad! How could you say that?_

Until his _recruitment_ he never paid enough mind to the real reason behind the couple's decision of not changing his last name. He had always been known as Miyano Atsushi: at the national genius institution – he finished that at nine; in the two-year abroad program – he had visited all heritage sites, appearing uncaring for studies just to take off with an Excellence certificate; and at university – where he had played the obedient, in-the-box student just to get out early with three inventions of his own.

Miyano Atsushi: the wonder student. Not some unknown spoiled brat with the last name of Masuyama.

He had, indeed, been appreciative of his solitude, for it granted him access to doors that those with a Neandertal pack mentality had been denied. His preference did not necessarily mean he had no friends; but rather, it indicated that he did not and never would rely on the advantage of numbers. Friends of his own, on the other hand, were always of equal, or at least equivalent intellectual level: even though he always maintained the humor and suaveness inherited from her parents, only those who could keep up with him stayed in touch. And it turned out, after his eccentricities gradually came to light, there were only a handful that wanted to maintain contact. He was not bothered. If he ever had to explain to his preference for solitude, it would be along the line of "leaving himself out before being left out".

__Hey, Miyano!_

_He turned swiftly around, a smile in place, fully prepared to deal with another fan club who had managed to tail him to his favorite location – a small café in a rather deserted alley. Instead he found himself facing a fat guy with his signature friendly grin._

__Souhei?_

__What, does not being one of your fans disappoint you? - the grin grew wider._

__You have no idea, - Miyano sighed – last time they spilled **coffee** over my newest sketch and spent a **whole** afternoon following me around to repeat their apology._

_Souhei Dejima burst out laughing; being a designer-in-training,he could easily picture the trail of girls insisting on "I'm so sorry Miyano-san!" to his childhood friend who was too courteous to ditch them all._

__They should – he said between tears – just have given you a tape._

__Maybe I'd take a second look if they do, - Miyano pretended to gape, hands brought together in a lovestruck gesture until both he and his friends dissolved into another fit of laughter. Sexist or not, his fan clubs should have spent time on better approaches._

_He sipped his black coffee:_

__Heard you're starting your own agency? - his voice was still casual, but his facial expression had grown serious._

__Yeah, - Souhei nodded, taking the hot chocolate from the waitress with a gentle smile – I've had enough._

__So next time I visit your house it'd be a worse mess than now? - He pulled a distracting question: his friend looked uncertain. Was it the decision to go his own way, or just stress?_

__Actually, not my house, no, - Souhei shook his head – I'm looking for some other place, you know, my house has all those designs and models and..._

__Tell you what, - Miyano cut him short, an idea sprang to mind. Take care of my dad's inheritance for me. _

__No way, - Souhei shook his head again – do I need to remind you how much we pulled the poor attorney through to regain control of it?_

__Look. - his friend leaned closer – I've found a sponsor for my research interest. But their facility's not here._

__You mean you're leaving? - Souhei looked surprised; he had been the only one Miyano came to when the research world began to distance themselves away from his friend._

__I mean you can use my dad's house as your designing agency. I need someone to watch over it, after all, and you're among the few ones with mouths small enough not to swallow it whole when I'm back._

_Eyes locked, faces both dead serious; after a moment they burst out laughing._

__You know, when was it that we last competed in the stare contest? - Souhei wiped away his tears the second time that day._

__I'll take that as a yes, - Miyano half-jokingly warned. _

_The vibration from his cell phone brought him back to reality; he glanced at the screen briefly, then turned to his friend who was sipping the chocolate._

__Meetings, - he explained – they wanted to hear an expansion for on my book._

_He stood up quickly, leaving some money on the table. _

__I'll mail you the legal stuff._

_His sudden urgency did not escape Souhei's perceptive eyes, but he dismissed it as similar to his own – first sponsor, first step on the ladder, accompanied by all kinds of negative thoughts._

__Hey, Miyano, - he added quietly._

_His friend stopped to look at him, the sudden change in tone did not go undetected._

__Return sometime, there's some new video games you'll end up hooked._

_He grinned._

_Great, I'm distracted now,_ Minyano thought to himself annoyed, though he smiled at the memory. Souhei had always been with him through thick and thin, minus the orphan stage; and last time he checked, his friend was acknowledged as a star designer. _Well that's a good way to cultivate the inheritance_, he darkeningly eyed his pillow, under which a weapon lay in wait.

_Better than who I've become._

_Exiting the café after waving goodbye to his childhood friend, Miyano walked one block before ducking behind a corner to check his cell phone again. _

"_Meet me at home. Masuyama couple taken care of"._

__So they're sent on vacation, - he thought to himself. **His** doing, eh?_

_On his screen, slipping in and out of the moving spotlight was an old-fashioned glass containing a foamy, ivory-colored coctktail._

_Pisco Sour. _

__**His** signature drink, isn't it?_

_A meeting with Pisco._

He glanced at the golden tint sunset was leaving on afloat clouds, suddenly felt worn out. His solitude had never bored him, but an unchanged surrounding did. Often.

He knew his ways to the fifteen-minute-away park.

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

She thought her eyes were deceiving her for a moment when a familiar black-haired head came into view. _He should have left for his home country when the course ended,_ she wondered briefly before moving closer for a better look. As fate would have it, she stepped on a stray twig, drawing his attention.

_Vineyard-san?

_Professor Miyano?

They both exclaimed at the same time. Feeling no need to conceal herself, she walked to the bench.

_I thought you already left?

_My sponsor wanted me to conduct some research for a while, - he lied convincingly, _at least that's half of the truth. The other half is something you should never know._

_Or may be you will. Someday._

_Because you're unknowingly among my research interests._

_And you're taking a break? - she smiled, causing him to mirror her action in return.

_You can say so, - he added a nod, awaiting the inevitable whenever someone found him all by himself. She's always been sharp.

__Aren't you lonely?_

_It must be nice - she inhaled the sweet smell of grass – to have the whole world to yourself some time.

He was taken aback.

Until he remembered she was always by herself as well.

_So that's how it is,_ - he smiled quietly, half in response to her remark, half in reply to his own realization.

_Vineyard-san, you definitely worth my attention._

_May I sit down?

Her question brought him back to the bench she was standing near.

_My apologies, - he stood up immediately, one arm extended – why not?

They sat at two ends of the bench in silence, among them Mother Nature's gold was dripping slowly into water.

_Vineyard-san, - he suddenly thought of a testing inquiry. Small, but effective.

_Yes?

_What do you think defines the borders of criminality?

_One moment please.

Her eyes turned thoughtful.

_Sure.

He turned to the side, leaving her some space. She was not slow to react, nor hesitant to snap; no, she just was never impulsive as other fools.

All of a sudden, her voice swayed the sunset.

_I remembered a story long ago, - she began – of a philosopher who counts the number of humans attending a housewarming party by placing a block of rock in their path.

He listened on intently.

_He found out no human, all of whom able-bodied, bothered to spare a few minutes in order to move the rock out of the way for others; instead they did anything to overcome the obstacle and moved on with their lives. Except for an old lady. She was, he later recorded, the only human present.

He smiled.

_We could use the same measure, seemingly unrealistic I'm aware, to determine who's a criminal and who's not.

Miyano laughed lightly, _I never thought of that._

_Good idea, - he added upon seeing her puzzled face – I can't do better.

Before she could regain her composure at the odd agreement, he suggested.

_Vineyard-san, I don't think your insight fits a fixed environment like psychology. Why don't you try... let's see, acting, instead?

_Actually, that was what I plan to discuss with you until the loss of contact.

Little did she know, long ago, someone had spun a line similar to her and was _recruited_.

__What do you think defines the border of criminality?_

_Masuyama Kenzou asked his adopted grandson at the "welcome home" party after motioning for him to give courtesy a break and ditch his fan clubs for a while._

_Being a street child for enough time, Miyano had several glimpses of the answer._

__Place a telephone booth over there, lead a homeless blind man on the way straight to it, see who helps him to avoid needless injury, the moving shiny suits or a man covered in tattoos and always curses._

_The older man laughed._

__Smart boy._

__Genius, - he replied._

_I like this scene, - he spread one arm toward the gold-lining water.

_I take it you somewhat enjoy the sunset?

_Vineyard-san, guess why.

She was secretly wondering his sudden openness, but brushed the stray thought aside herself.

_A scenery of transcending borders?

_Correct.

He nodded in emphasis.

_There has never been any border anyway. Mother Nature doesn't play privileges. Just us humans created it for a sense of security.

Deep inside, he knew all too well why he had been, and she would be, _recruited_. Just as he had realized they wanted no connection between agents if avoidable – that was why he had not had to switch his last name to his adopted parents'.

_'Cause they passed the tiny test that any street child could have?_

_Because in one moment, around them shone an equivalently piercing light to that of **angels**, and the Organization always wanted the best._

_Because in one answer, they saw through masks worn by others, who would drop dead like fish out of water should their clearly divided world between good and evil be merged._

Deep inside, she knew all too well the reason for her – and perhaps the Japanese professor's - preference for sunset. Without sunset, there would never be sunrise; without sunrise, there would never be sunset either. And because in that moment, the world becomes one.

_Ironically_, she thought to herself, _people campaigned for unity but strove to retain existing borders as salvation of their own authority_.

_Ironically_, he thought to himself, _unity had never meant the absence of borders. It meant the embrace of which. It meant the appreciation of differences, be it in ideologies, lifestyles or even personalities. _

_Perhaps_, they thought to themselves somewhere along one line, _unity would become reality when we could be the child we used to be without being frowned upon_.

Some people argued should the world become one, chaos would ensue as no boundaries ever existed. Some simply dismissed it, as that could never be; borders were always inevitable order. And some merely smiled, knowing the world would eventually bond, in a web with connections but without prejudices.

~a~b~c~d~e~f~g~h~i~j~k~l~m~n~o~p~q~r~s~t~u~v~w~x~y~z~

**A/N:**_**I myself don't even know who is the man I wrote about that Chris Vineyard fell in love with, and I don't think that fits with Gosho Aoyama's idea either; but she has been a very intriguing character to me. I started thinking, what if she was only an ordinary lady like all others, with extraordinary skills that not every person had been able to sharpen? Thus, the story began.**_

_** Souhei Dejima, as mentioned in Detective Conan Volume 41, is Miyano Atsushi's childhood friend. I presume from Gosho Aoyama's writing that the latter grew up as an ordinary child, but I took it to a peculiar level to fit my plot.**_

_** Sharon Vineyard, as in my plot, planned to study psychology, then switched to acting and filmography. She's also the only daughter of a working-class family who sent her across the country for better education.**_

_** The story she told was something I read somewhere, but couldn't remember clearly whether the philosopher mentioned is Aristotle or not.**_

_** As of note, guess what kind of "soup" Masuyama Kenzou (codename Pisco) could have cooked and was mentioned. And by the way, his favorite drink was something I made up, even though the cocktail itself does exist – you can go try it if you want.**_

_**Looking forward to your review.**_

_**Chrys.**_

_**PS:**__** Please don't associate my screen name with my interest in this character. Just a nickname, that's it.**_


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